Preparing for What Might Come
At two in the morning, unable to sleep, I sat at the kitchen table in darkness, methodically cleaning my weapon. The familiar smell of cleaning solvent was oddly comforting.
The mechanical rhythm of disassembly and reassembly calmed my shaking hands.
David came in. He didn’t turn on the light, just sat across from me, watching moonlight reflect off the metal.
“You’re preparing for conflict,” he said softly. “But Nola, you’re not his seventeen-year-old daughter anymore. Yet you’re still acting like you need his approval. Still waiting for his inspection.”
I looked up, eyes burning with unshed tears. “He’s hunting me. What am I supposed to do?”
“You’re a Commander,” David said, covering my hand with his. “Commanders don’t ask for respect. They command it. It’s time you gave yourself permission to have peace.”
The next day, I went to see the Base Chaplain, a former Marine with a no-nonsense approach to counseling.
I told him everything. The wedding. The dollar. The stalking behavior.
“Commander,” he said firmly, “you’re fighting the wrong battle. You’re fighting for him to apologize. You want him to say he’s proud of you.”
“Yes,” I admitted quietly.
“He never will. Real victory isn’t making him apologize. Victory is the day you realize you don’t need him to.”
I walked out of that office with a new understanding. My mission was to protect my peace, not to win his approval.
When Things Got Dangerous
But my father wasn’t finished. When psychological tactics failed, he chose what amounted to a nuclear option.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. I was in the middle of an important intelligence briefing. The room was dark except for the glow of monitors.
